


Secret Code

by Leloi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, References to Suicide, Reichenbach Falls, secret code
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leloi/pseuds/Leloi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is devastated by Sherlock's jump.  What can Mycroft do to aid him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Code

**Author's Note:**

> I finished writing this ages ago... I don't know why I never posted it. I may as well post it before the next season shows up and ruins my story. Here it is now.
> 
> Mature for Suicide references, John's grief and pre-slash... but mostly for the suicide references.

Mycroft Holmes could plan every minute detail pertaining to his brother’s funeral. The only thing he couldn’t command was the rain. The stage was set with his mother and father in attendance along with the vicar. Servants held black umbrellas overhead to keep the intimate gathering dry. The dampness was an annoyance, soaking the hems of his trousers. 

Beside him his father stared at the coffin bedecked with roses. The man’s face was stoic as ever, lacking any sentiment. His mother cried quietly clinging to Mycroft’s arm as if it was a lifeline, a rose held in her hand and a handkerchief in the other. Mycroft did not look at the coffin, instead following movement throughout the cemetery. 

His own people stood around them, bedecked in black suits. Out there, somewhere was Moriarty’s people, watching the funeral carefully for some slip up. Lives held in the balance of the charade. 

And not too far away stood another man watching the funeral from a distance. Dr. John Watson had been invited to the funeral, of course. How could the only friend of Sherlock Holmes not be invited? But out of some misplaced respect for the grieving family the doctor had opted to keep his distance. Instead he stood in the pouring rain without even an umbrella, soaked to the bone. His surveillance and sources told him that John Watson had been devastated by Sherlock’s death. The doctor had stopped eating and sleeping, his returning limp keeping him from traveling very far from the empty flat he once shared with Sherlock.

Mycroft made a soft tutting noise with his tongue, aware suddenly that his mother was starting towards the lowering casket. After she tossed her rose he led her away from the grave as she continued to weep for her younger son.

They passed close to where John stood and Mycroft assessed the slightly younger man’s appearance. Something had to be done about it sooner rather than later.

^.~

Mycroft removed his jacket and set his umbrella in the stand. Entering the living room he stared at his houseguest. 

Sherlock lounged on the leather sofa, his bare feet propped up as he read from a science magazine. “You’re out of milk.”

“Despite the rain your funeral was lovely.” Mycroft responded sitting in his armchair.

“Your toaster is no longer functional. It burned my toast... It had to be destroyed.”

“Mummy is devastated. Father is… the usual.”

“I’m in the mood for Chinese. What do you think? Can we get one of your minions to bring take away?”

Annoyed by his brother’s nonchalance, Mycroft grabbed the periodical from Sherlock and tossed it away. 

Sherlock frowned. “What?”

“John Watson does not look good at all. He attended the funeral but did not join the family. He has not eaten or slept since the day you ‘died,’ Sherlock.”

Sherlock stared down at his hands, pouting just a bit. “So?”

“So, dear brother, your former partner is dangerously close to an emotional breakdown. I have serious doubts that you traded your life for his in order for him to lose it to a bought of depression.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw his head back against the arm of the couch. “What I mean is what am I supposed to do about it? I am ‘dead.’ I can’t go walking up to him and say, ‘Sorry for the inconvenience, mate, but I need you to sit tight for a while so I can go hunt Moriarty’s men. By the way there are assassins on your tail who will take you down as soon as I show myself to you.’ Is that what you have in mind?”

“Send him word.”

“HOW?” Sherlock demanded. “You’re probably being watched too, you know. As soon as you make a visit they’ll know.”

Mycroft glared at his brother. “You have three assassins to find. Three. With each one picked off it will be easier for you to move around. I have already started looking for the first. If you could give one word… one single word of encouragement to your Watson what would it be? Tell me, brother.”

“Red pants.”

“I beg your pardon!?” Mycroft sputtered.

“Red pants.”

“Is there a reason your word of encouragement is related to knickers?”

“John has a pair.”

“And that means something to him, mentioning his unmentionables?”

“You don’t understand. There’s only one pair of red pants. They are tucked in the very bottom of his drawer. The only person who has seen him wear them is me and that’s only on laundry day. It’s a… thing. If I want him to lighten up I’ll just casually mention ‘red pants’ and he starts to giggle.”

“Red pants? I’ll try it.”

^.~

John sat in his chair staring up at the elder Holmes brother. “Would you like a cuppa?”

“No thank you… I came to see how your mourning was progressing. Have you reached the anger phase yet?”

“Ages ago…” John replied, rubbing his face. 

“I bet it made you see red.”

“Red?”

“Red pants.”

John stared back at Mycroft, eyebrows raised. “Red pants?”

“Yes… erm… red… knickers… laundry day.”

“Have you been watching our video feed?”

“It’s not in color.”

“Right.” John nodded, making a thoughtful face.

“So… if you could say anything to express yourself about red pants… what would it be?”

“Vatican cameos.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This is a game, isn’t it?”

Mycroft pursed his lips and frowned a bit.

“You know what red pants means?” John clarified.

“A little.”

“But not all of it… Someone told you to mention red pants. Am I right?”

“Correct.”

“Then my response is ‘Vatican cameos.’ Oh… and ‘cable knit jumper.’” 

Mycroft made a face, sounding out the words as he committed them to memory.

“If they know what ‘Vatican cameos’ is then say ‘cable knit jumper.’ If they don’t know ‘Vatican cameos’ then I don’t think we’re playing the same game.”

Mycroft nodded. “I’ll… get back to you then?”

“Of course.” John gave a little smile, the first since the fall.

^.~

“Vatican cameos.” Mycroft enunciated.

Sherlock broke into a wide grin. “He gets it! Oh John can be so utterly brilliant!” A gleeful tap of his toes on the coffee table and Sherlock was almost vibrating with delight. 

“He also told me to tell you ‘cable knit jumper.’”

Sherlock sobered and nodded. With a small sigh he leaned back in on the sofa and wrapped his arms around his chest protectively.

“What does it mean?”

“It was his favorite jumper. His mum knitted it for him. He lost it and was devastated. It means he’s upset.”

“Is there any word for comfort in your strange little language of secret codes?”

Sherlock was thoughtful a moment, squinting up at the ceiling as if it held the answers. “Besides ‘red pants’? I suppose… ‘bees.’”

“Bees?” Mycroft was beginning to think that his brother and his brother’s best friend were a little touched in the head. Quickly he sent a text to John containing only the word ‘bees.’

The response is almost instant. “Thank you.” Mycroft read it aloud. “Why bees?”

“I told John that when I retired I would like to take up beekeeping. For my birthday he gave me a book on beekeeping. I suppose he was trying to cheer me up during the business with Irene but I appreciated his gesture.”

“Bees?” Mycroft shook his head. “So now he knows you’re alive.”

“Yes. May I ask that you increase the security around him? If he lets slip then… he might…”

“Of course, Brother Dear… Your doctor will be safe even if we have to put him in protective custody.”

“He’ll hate that. Do you think it will work?”

“Easy enough to take him off the street… I could bring him here.”

“But then he’ll want to follow when I take on Moriarty’s assassins.” Sherlock played with his tee shirt. “It’s best if he stays where he is.”

But Mycroft wasn’t so certain.

It took a special team to extract John Watson from the Baker Street flat along with some of his belongings. Another team came through and made it look like the doctor had packed up and left for parts unknown. Really he was brought, protesting into the back entrance of Mycroft’s manor. 

“Why am I here?” John demanded. “I thought we were done playing games.”

“I’ve made it look like you, in your grief have left town to get away from the flat and the memories. Instead you shall be here.”

“Here?” John echoed. “Why here?”

“Because I’m here.” Sherlock responded, entering the room. Turning to Mycroft he frowned. “I told you that he would be safer out there!”

“I believe you underestimate your doctor’s aid.” Mycroft replied. “Besides… I grow weary of your moping and abusing my staff. You have work to do and Dr. Watson is capable of helping you with it.”

John spent the entirety of Mycroft’s words staring in disbelief at Sherlock. “You really are alive…”

“Yes… I believe we established that with ‘red pants’ and ‘bees.’” Sherlock replied shortly.

“No… I mean…” John stared down at his feet, shuffling a bit. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Sherlock gave their audience a glare that Mycroft took to mean ‘leave.’ With the older Holmes gone Sherlock moved in closer to John and lightly touched his shoulder. “You had to believe… the assassins that had you in their crosshairs had to believe.”

“I never believed… I mean I believed in YOU. I knew Moriarty was real. But to kill yourself…?”

“I’m sorry… John, I am truly sorry. I know I hurt you. But it was either that or watch you die instead. I couldn’t… Moriarty told me… it was either me or you. I chose me. I can’t imagine a world without you in it.” 

“Meanwhile I’m living in a world with you gone.”

“Not anymore. You’re under protective custody. But I can’t have you help me take down those assassins. I won’t let them harm you.”

“Hey… I’m a soldier.” John breathed with a sad smile. “I can take care of myself.”

“John, please…”

“You listen to me!” John reached out and placed his hands on Sherlock’s upper arms. “Listen, Sherlock Holmes… I’ve lost you once and I don’t want to lose you again, not while it’s in my power to protect you. They won’t win. You’ve got me. Use me… my skills… whatever you need. We’ll do this together. And then we can go home.”

“I want to go home with you.” Sherlock admitted, leaning in closer to John. “I missed you.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you…”

“I do… I have the video feed and the reports. You’ve been in a downward spiral ever since… you haven’t been well, John.”

“And whose fault is that? I just saw my best friend jump from a building and smash himself on the sidewalk in front of me.”

“That’s not actually what you saw… but we’ll discuss it later.”

“What did I see?”

Sherlock made a face. “You couldn’t see my landing from where you were standing. When you got closer a bicycle hit you and you were dosed with something to make you think you saw me bleeding on the pavement. That’s what you expected to see so that’s what you saw. The assassins weren’t looking at me… they were looking at you… and they saw your fear and horror… and your grief. They didn’t notice my soft landing or the blood being poured on me… or the homeless pretending to be doctors and whisking me away before you could get a good look at me and realize I wasn’t dead. That’s why you couldn’t touch me.”

John’s face fell as he stared down at Sherlock’s sternum. “You bastard…” 

“You had to believe… so the grief was real and the sniper wouldn’t shoot. And for that I’m truly sorry. But I had no other choice. I couldn’t let them kill you. Do you understand? John?”

“I suppose I should be grateful that I find out now and not… years from now? The day after your funeral… Geez! There were probably snipers at the funeral watching us all cry and carry on!” 

“I hear it was lovely. Mycroft planned it down to every detail.”

“It was lovely…”

“You didn’t sit with my family.”

“I’m not family.”

“You ARE my family. You and Mrs. Hudson… more like family than the one I was born to.”

“Don’t say that. At least your brother knew about you.”

“Not at first… not until I contacted him.”

“And you couldn’t contact me?”

“John… you were being watched, targeted. No… I couldn’t contact you… I couldn’t put your life in danger any more than I already had.”

“You stupid, arrogant…” But John leaned into Sherlock resting his forehead against the other man’s chest. 

Sherlock raised his arms and wrapped them around John’s shoulders bowing his head into the crown of John’s head to breathe in the scent of his unwashed hair. “We’re together again. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Rather touching scene…” Mycroft observed as he returned. “I take it from this rather sentimental display that you two have resolved your lovers quarrel?”

John blushed and gently pulled away from Sherlock, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Sod off…”

“I was going to direct you to the guestroom, John but perhaps you would prefer to stay with my brother? Goodness knows he barely uses the bed I gave him…”

“My own room would be fine… I’m still angry with him for lying to me.”

“Of course you are.” Mycroft grinned. And with that Mycroft Holmes, eternal meddler in his little brother’s life brought Dr. John Watson to Sherlock’s room. Besides, he reasoned… his brother COULD use the company.

Sherlock didn’t protest when he found out. But he did catch John in the hall. “My brother is meddling again. He gave you my room.”

“Well maybe you can sleep on the couch instead!” John replied.

Sherlock offered a sheepish smile. “Cross Keys?”

John smiled faintly, remembering the small inn room in Dartmoor and sharing a bed on the last night when Sherlock actually slept. The doctor had woken in the morning with his companion clinging to him like he was a teddy bear. “Cross Keys.”

Sherlock’s smile broke into a grin as he helped John unpack.

\--Fin


End file.
